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You are so beautiful as I watch you dress to date another convicted felon with a tattoo, and I sit here in my wheelchair. You pay attention to every aspect of your personal appearance, and I watch you from inside this closet where you keep me so I am out of sight, and out of mind. I begged you not to disconnect the machinery, but did you listen? I'm bleeding all over everything, and now there's a drywall screw through my hand. I feel terrible, but you're so beautiful. The CD player is skipping; the music was lousy anyway. I've got to find a doctor, and you're making all kinds of demands on me, none of which are sexual. One of my sinus cavities has a small metallic object stuck in there, and it's been rusting for years. Every time I blow my nose the tissue is filled with copper-colored oxides and reactants. The blisters on the bottom of my feet are beginning to act up again, and now you're ready to leave the house. I think I'm getting an ulcer, and this splinter is getting infected again; it's really big, and deep, and it's been oozing pus for days, maybe weeks; I can't really remember anymore, and they tell me I might have to have the arm amputated because of it. The laundry is done, and the last time I didn't get there five minutes before the cycle was complete, irate tenants threw all my stuff on the floor; the rats ate the rest, and you blamed me in spite of the fact that they haven't installed the wheelchair ramp yet. No wonder you are fucking the doorman, and the cab driver, and the delivery boy without any arms and legs. I never realized just how many cockroaches there were in this room where you keep me. If I sit really motionless, as only I can do, they walk all over me, just like you, my dear. I love you so much. I think my body is beginning to reject the artificial hip they installed last October, and my pulse is way up, breathing rate down, and I still have three payments left on my glass eye, which is a little to big for the socket, so it exerts a constant pressure on all the connective tissue. I need more Ritalin. My matrimonial days are only exceeded by my probability of death. It's a wonderful life, and I can only touch you in my dreams.
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